


Beats.

by Bakuras



Category: Tiger & Bunny
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 18:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6019867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bakuras/pseuds/Bakuras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night after he thought Kotetsu Kaburagi died in his arms, Barnaby tells him everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beats.

There are few instances in a person’s life when time slows down enough to feel it not in seconds, but in beats, comprised of moving wipes of blur and haze stitching together moments of absolute flawless clarity.  

You’ve felt it only once before. The thundercrack of gunshots echoing through your home.  Your eyes falling on the bodies of your parents in a room surrounded by fire.  The almost _film quality_ rack-focus to the tattoo on a hand.  The moments in between are so irrelevant and faded to you that it’s almost as though they were omitted from reality altogether.

It’s happening again.  It’s happening again.  It’s happening to you again and you can’t bring your mind to record any of it normally, to keep that sickness out…

_One._

The force of the blaster punches back, the recoil strong enough to knock your weight into your heels.  It’s almost startling - you’ve used your share of weapons, some of which could even be considered catastrophic if placed in the wrong hands, but there’s something about the blast from _this_ one that nearly shoves you completely on your ass.  

_He’s_ in your line of fire, and you feel like throwing up.  

_Two._

By the time he’s in your arms, you don’t remember running to him.  

_Three._

He speaks to you like he’s saying goodbye.

He’s saying goodbye.

He’s saying goodbye.

_Four_.

You didn’t think you would ever remember anything as clearly, as perfectly, as walking into your house on Christmas eve twenty-one years ago.  And then you felt him stop breathing.  

You’re never going to tell him.  The part of you that you think is going to literally eat you alive if he doesn’t know you’re in _love_ with him is locked into its destiny.  It’s going to burn you.  You think you might actually die.

You’ll never have the chance to kiss him.  You’ll never have the chance to hold him.  You’re never going to feel the faint movement of hot air as he gasps into your mouth.

You don’t check for a pulse because you won’t survive a confirmation.

_Five._

He’s _talking_.  

You can’t feel his heartbeat through your suit.  You want out of it. 

You have to _know_.

                                                                                                          ***

“Are you gonna beat yourself up _forever_ , cause I’d at least appreciate a warning if I’m gonna be tellin’ ya to knock it off for the rest of your natural life.”

He’s smiling, of course, the jackass _almost always is,_ but he means what he says.

It’s a bit pathetic, admittedly, that even something so casual and offhanded can bring back the physical feeling of weight in your chest.  You recognize it immediately as the dull, tightly-rung constriction before your voice starts to waver, and you silently curl your hands into fists.   _That_ shouldn’t be the thing to make you cry.

The worst part isn’t that it’s embarrassing, it’s not.  You’ve cried in front of him before.  He’s never given you a reason to be afraid of it.  

The worst part is that there’s a developing _block_ in your throat, rendering you speechless until you build up enough power to force the words around it.  It’s either remain unable to speak at all, or end up spilling _everything_  in a torrent of frustration, of overwhelming relief, of grief that still hasn’t faded even now that it’s unnecessary.  

You held back earlier.  You don’t know how you managed it - maybe it was a side effect of the surreal, time-defiant way that you experienced the entire ordeal.  But you know you aren’t going to do it again.  

He puts one hand on your shoulder and smiles faintly, and that’s the last bit of self control you have.  

                                                          ***

“I’ve never been that…scared…” 

Kotetsu doesn’t move to speak - you almost wish he would, as though that would somehow stop you from saying what you _know_ is inevitable.  Of all the times he’s made some inappropriate remark at the worst possible moment, you would think that he’d at _least_ have the sense to destroy the mood now too, right?

But his face softens instead.  You wish you could hate him for it.  

“I hadn’t…I thought my parents’ murder was the most pain I’d ever have to feel, like…like I earned some sort of p-pass…”  

Your hand rushes to cover your mouth, and you squeeze your eyes shut and _rack_ into a sob as loud that’s as the words you’ve been forcing out.  It feels as though it winded you, like a fall straight onto your back from a small distance might.

Kotetsu gently pulls the glasses off your face, like it’s somehow going to help you, and sets them carefully on the coffee table behind him.  A distant, silent part of you wants to laugh. 

You do, actually.  It just morphs into another bout of weeping.

“…it hurt so m _uch…”_

“…Hey, it’s alright. I… -”

“I can’t say you don’t know what it’s like - “ 

“I’m here, okay?  Bunny, look at me -”

“You saw the most important person in the world to you die, right?  Just like that?  I can’t sit here and say you don’t understand -”

_“Barnaby.”_

“But you don’t know, do you?  You don’t know what it was like for me, because…”

_Because you don’t know that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me._

_“because…”_

_Because you don’t know that I can’t even **look** at you anymore without every part of my body feeling like it’s broken._

_“…because……”  
_

_Because you don’t know that I’ve been in love with you for almost a year, that every time you throw your arm over my shoulder and I feel the tiniest bit of your skin I remember how badly I want you inside of me as deep as you can go, that there are times when you smile at me and I realize that I’d be okay with living my life over again, **every** part of it, if it meant that I could be with you.  _

_…_

You lift your eyes for only a second, and he catches them.

And then there’s not a _damn_ thing you’ve ever thought, felt or needed that you don’t tell him about in the following twenty minutes.

                                                                                                                    ***

Time is slowing into beats again.  You didn’t realize it could do that without something strong enough to leave you traumatized and helpless.  

Grief was supposed to be the strongest thing a person could feel.  For the longest, _longest_ time, you thought you would never feel anything as much as you felt grief.

 

_One._

You’ve been speaking for a solid seven minutes without so much as a pause, purposely not allowing him to get a word in anywhere.  You’re going to cling to the precious amount of time you have left before he tells you he doesn’t love you too.

 

_Two._

…

You don’t think you heard him right.  

However much you were able to feel grief - the _combined_ grief of the still-raw innocence of a child being shredded apart in his own home, and the grief of holding the most precious person on earth in your arms as they stopped breathing - is _nothing_ in comparison to this.  

 

_Three._

Your first kiss is so _tender_ that you almost don’t feel it. 

 

_Four._

_Deeper.  Please. **Please**.  _

_I want to cum with you._

 

_Five._

You’re starting to realize that this isn’t a dream.  

You are actually allowed to be _this happy._


End file.
